Cinderella and Her Three Musketeers

Cinderella heard the wolf behind her before she heard her own scream. Its paws struck the frozen ground with a heavy, steady rhythm. Branches cracked in its path. The sound followed her through the trees, close enough that she felt each thud in her ribs. She ran faster. A thorn tore her ankle. Cold mud sucked at her bare feet, and the thin sleeves of her dress snagged on the brambles. She tasted blood where she had bitten her lip, but she kept her eyes on the narrow strip of moonlight ahead. “Sia.” The forest swallowed her voice. Cinderella stumbled, caught herself against a pine, and pressed her palm to its rough bark. Sap and damp moss smeared her skin. “Sia, answer me.” Nothing. Sia was always there. Through fevers, bad dreams, and the long silences after her mother died, the wolf inside Cinderella had never left her alone. Now the quiet seemed to stretch between the trees, colder than the night. A low growl rolled behind her. Cinderella pushed away from the pine. “I know you’re there.” Two pale eyes appeared between the trunks. The wolf stepped into the moonlight. Its coat was dark and matted, its shoulders high enough to reach her chest. A strip of something silver glinted at its throat, then vanished beneath the fur. It watched her as if it had been waiting for her to stop. Cinderella backed away. Her heel caught on a root. She hit the ground hard, scraping her palm on stone. The wolf sprang. A black shape slammed into it from the side. The impact shook leaves from the branches. The two animals rolled through the undergrowth, snarling and snapping. One was huge, its black coat drinking in the darkness. The other twisted beneath it, claws ripping at the soil. Cinderella scrambled toward a fallen tree. She could run. The path ahead was clear, and both wolves were busy tearing at each other. Then the black wolf’s hind leg caught beneath a forked branch. The other wolf twisted free and lunged for its throat. Cinderella stopped. “Don’t,” she whispered to herself, though she couldn’t say which part she meant. She could leave the black wolf to its fight. It had growled at her. It wasn’t hers. No one had asked her to help. The dark wolf snapped down toward its trapped leg. Cinderella grabbed a fallen branch. Its broken end scraped her fingers. She turned back and ran at the attacker, shouting as loud as her raw throat allowed. “Get away from him!” The wolf’s head whipped toward her. She swung. The branch struck its shoulder with a dull c***k. Pain jumped up her arms. The beast snarled and came for her instead. For one breath, Cinderella couldn’t move. Then the black wolf tore free and hit the attacker across the ribs. They vanished into a tangle of fur and teeth. Cinderella stumbled backward, the branch still clenched in her hands. A man stepped from the trees. “Are you hurt?” He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark coat. Black hair fell over a scar in one eyebrow. His gray eyes went first to the blood running down her arm, then to her face. Cinderella tightened her grip on the branch. “You tell me. Are you here to help, or should I hit you too?” A flicker crossed his expression. It might have been surprise. “Alex,” he said. “And I’m trying to help.” “Then tell your wolf to stop growling at me.” The black wolf had turned toward her. Its silver-gray eyes held hers, its lips drawn back from its teeth. “Vargan.” Alex’s voice cut through the clearing. The wolf lowered its head, but didn’t look away from Cinderella. A second man strolled into the open, stepping around a patch of crushed ferns as if the fight had been arranged for his entertainment. Golden-brown hair fell into his eyes. His crooked smile appeared before his gaze reached her bloodied arm. “Well,” he said. “She’s prettier than I expected.” Cinderella stared at him. “Expected from whom?” “Richard Agrippa.” He gave her a shallow bow. “I’d explain, but I’m beginning to suspect nobody told you anything.” “That makes two of us,” Alex said. “Three, actually.” The third man had appeared at the edge of the clearing. He wore a silver chain beneath his collar, and his dark eyes fixed on Cinderella’s wrist. She pulled her torn sleeve down. Too late. The crescent-shaped mark had been visible. The man went still. “What is your name?” he asked. “Why?” “Darius,” Alex said, warning in his voice. Darius seemed not to hear him. “That mark. Where did you get it?” “I was born with it.” His face changed, just for a moment. Not fear. Recognition, sharp enough to make Cinderella’s skin tighten. Before she could question him, a howl rose from somewhere beyond the clearing. It was answered by another, then another. The sound moved through the forest, drawing closer from several directions. Vargan’s ears flattened. Richard’s smile disappeared. Alex reached for the weapon at his side. Cinderella searched the trees for a way out. “How many are there?” “Too many,” Alex said. “Then we move.” Darius looked at her as if he had expected her to ask something else. “You don’t understand what’s coming.” “Neither do you, apparently, if you’re standing here arguing.” A breath of warmth stirred inside Cinderella’s chest. Not her own. Sia. “Cinderella.” She froze. “Sia?” The answer came as a tremor in her mind. “Don’t let them see you.” Cinderella looked at the three men. “Who?” The moon slipped from behind the clouds. Silver light spilled over the clearing and caught the mark on her wrist. Heat flared beneath her skin. From the trees, voices whispered together. “Lunaris.” The word passed through the woods like wind through dry leaves. Wolves lowered their heads. Richard’s face had gone pale. Darius stepped toward her. “Run.” Cinderella held his gaze. “From what?” “Not from us,” he said, turning toward the dark between the trees. “From everything else.” She could still hear the wolves closing in. Her hand hurt where the branch had bitten into her palm, and the mark burned beneath her sleeve. She had already chosen once not to leave someone behind. This time, she moved toward Alex instead of away from him. “Then start running,” she said. “And keep up.” A dozen pairs of eyes opened in the forest.